Part of Being a Good Psychologist
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: "Thank you, Médicito. Talking to you…" He smiled, leaning over to kiss him softly. "You know me so well. You always know what to say." "That's part of being a psychiatrist," George said lightly.


A/N: I've been working on this fic a while and finally went and finished it today. I like the dynamic George and Rafael seemed to have in Thought Criminal- you could tell how much they liked and respected each other. So I wanted to put that in this fic.

This fic is very slightly AU in that George and Rafael are already together in Thought Criminal and George is in NYC for good, but otherwise everything's the same. It takes place between Thought Criminal and Spring Awakening.

* * *

It had certainly not been a good day for Rafael. Between the not guilty verdict against Wilkes and Nick Amaro getting himself arrested going after him, Rafael was stressed. Even though he'd already gotten scotch with the detectives, he had poured himself more the instant he got home.

That was how George found him when he got home, silently steaming between drinks of scotch. After they greeted each other, George asked the obligatory "What's wrong?"

"The case." Rafael sipped at his scotch, talking in a too-controlled voice. It was strange; most people talked faster when angry, but Rafael always took on a controlled speech pattern imbued with venom. "Effron," he seethed. "After all the times she's accused _me_ of having an agenda?"

"I know," George replied, leaning down to kiss him. Rafael smiled, only for a moment, and kissed back before he returned to ranting.

"How could she not see the difference between having a thought and taking steps? If he had just had thoughts about those boys, we wouldn't have been in that courtroom! But he built a _torture chamber_ with all the tools it needed to function! If this was a gun and he had talked about shooting up a schoolyard, there wouldn't be any question that he intended to commit murder." Sighing, Rafael rubbed his face.

"I know," George told him softly. "She was trying to throw you off-guard, as revenge for rattling her client." He frowned. "She was right about that- that wasn't like you."

"I know, I know," Rafael muttered, running one hand over his face again. "I got desperate. I kept…" His voice broke. "I kept imagining that post. 'Sweet faced, chubby.' What boy was he thinking about? What if…"

"He won't try it. As stupid as Detective Amaro's stunt was… it scared him. He won't go any further." George sat next to Rafael on the sofa, glancing over at him.

"Not in Manhattan," Rafael acknowledged. "But there's other kids. Other schoolyards." He let out a soft breath, gazing ahead. "If he built his torture chamber that easily, how long would it take him to start over? Find a new angel-faced boy to…" Rafael shook his head, looking nauseous.

After a long moment, Rafael quietly said, "When I was little…" and pulled him closer.

"There was this boy everyone made fun of for being 'weird'. Even I joined in." Disgust and self-loathing twisted his face. "It was such a relief to have someone they hated more than me. I got all of two weeks where I got to actually use my lunch money to _buy lunch_. Of course I joined in. If he was weird, they wouldn't notice that I was, and then I got some peace. I could have just ignored him, but I joined in hoping to… to make sure. I was horrible."

"Rafael, you were… what, seven? You didn't know," George told him softly. "All you knew-"

"No," Rafael interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't make excuses for what I did just because you love who I am now. I knew damn well what I was doing. But that isn't the point." He sipped at his scotch again. "This kid we all made fun of." He exhaled slowly. "I thought he was just weird. But now I wonder… I wonder if he might have been molested."

George frowned. "He might have been. What makes you think that?"

"He was always so skittish around the adults. Especially men, especially if they were giving orders. He'd act like his life depended on making them happy." Rafael drank more scotch and sighed. "I don't know why an adult didn't pick it up. Or maybe they did and these were just aftereffects."

"What happened to him?"

Rafael shrugged. "The bullies got sick of him and came back to me. I started taking it out on him- I blamed him. Next year, we were in different classrooms, and unlike the gang from PS 109, we never saw each other outside of school. Problem solved. And then the next year, he moved away. That's all I know. It's only now that I'm working here that these other things are making sense."

"You think about him a lot?" George asked gently.

Nodding, Rafael whispered, "Yes. When I finally grew up, realized what I'd done, that I'd become what I hated- I-I felt awful. I still do. And now that I'm realizing what might have happened…" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I've been thinking about it for months. Ever since I started working the child cases. It suddenly fell into place. And now…"

"You see him during all the child cases you prosecute?" George suggested. He rested one hand on Rafael's arm.

"Not exactly. I see them as themselves. It… It's more the vulnerability. The fear. The… the betrayal, by the people they trusted, the world at large," he said and reached out to grab George's hand. Coming to a decision, he said, "I like kids. Too much for this. I should be fighting for them, but I don't think I can anymore. I think I'm going to ask Cox to find someone else when she can't be here."

Smiling encouragingly, George said, "Whatever you need to do, Rafael. Just keep in mind… having you as an ADA might just be the best thing to happen to those kids."

Rafael laughed softly, but didn't reply.

Finally, he broke the silence with, "Médico, what goes wrong in these guys' heads? What happens that makes them…" He wrung his hands a little. "That makes them aroused by torture? Wilkes, Lewis?"

Suddenly George had a piece of the puzzle he hadn't realized was missing. Of course Rafael was upset at Wilkes wanting to harm a child- that protective side of him had been evident for some time- but it was the torture that really got to him, because of Lewis. It was Olivia's torture at Lewis' hands that had finally gotten Rafael to show how much he cared about the victims. Torture of a child would make it that much worse, combining the two things that upset him most.

He thought about Rafael's question for a moment and then, smiling sadly, answered, "If we knew, we'd be able to cure them. I wish we did."

"Maybe not," Rafael argued. "Doctors know what causes a lot of physical diseases but can't cure them. Cancer, AIDS."

"But what good would that do? A why without a solution? It's almost better without an answer," George rebutted. "It would be worse, knowing we were so close to fixing it but still not there."

"True; it wouldn't do much good. But an answer is all I want." Rafael rubbed his forehead. "We're both those kind of people. Everything needs an answer. Everything needs to make sense."

"I don't want an answer anymore, as far as sex offenders are concerned," George admitted. "I looked for answers for a while. I tried to figure out the why and the how." George took in a deep breath and shifted closer to Rafael. Even talking about his early career was difficult and he needed to feel Rafael's warmth next to him as he relived it. "I tried to help them. Pedophiles, serial killers. I spent all day in their heads… it was an awful place to be. I finally gave up."

"Did you just leave, or did something _make_ you quit?" Rafael asked knowingly.

It made George smile, just a little; Rafael was the first person to understand him this well, the first to get inside his head as easily as he got in others'. It was their many likenesses, he thought, that made them work so well as a couple.

That ghost of a smile faded as soon as he started speaking. "The worst criminal I ever dealt with. He would make Wilkes look like a saint. Maybe even worse than Lewis." Rafael inhaled sharply, and George briefly considered not continuing, but did anyway.

"This offender…" He refused to name him, refused to even call him a man. To acknowledge his humanity, George thought, was an insult to the rest of them. This offender was the only one he thought of this way. All the other evil offenders, he still considered human; the worst humanity had to offer, certainly, but still human. Not this one.

"He made me think… he made me think he was just sick. Having these urges he couldn't control. I almost felt sorry for him."

"Like your other patients," Rafael said.

"Like my other patients," George echoed. "At the time. Now…" He sighed and shook his head. He didn't want to go there. "Anyway. I felt bad. I wanted to fix him. He told me about the life he'd had and how he wanted it back. How he wanted to enjoy being a father again without worrying about hurting his _kids._"

Rafael wondered about the emphasis George placed on that last word, but George explained before he could ask. "He had two daughters. One was four years old. The other was _three months_. So when he talked about his _kids_, plural…"

"Oh, dios mío," Rafael muttered, closing his eyes. "Tell me he- tell me he at least didn't hurt the baby?"

"I wish I could," George said, still as revolted as he had been that day. He swallowed. "I really, really do. All I can say is that there wasn't any permanent physical damage to either, though the baby did have recurring urinary tract infections. That was how they found out." He looked over and began to worry that Rafael might throw up. He wouldn't be alone. "He sounded so penitent. He said he'd do anything to be normal. So… I tried to help him. I used every therapy I could think of. But…"

"But?" Rafael prompted, voice almost too quiet to hear.

"But then, one day… his wife came in, inconsolable. She showed me his journal. The whole time, he had been playing along- he wanted us all to think he was trying to be normal so he could see his children again, to- to do the same thing again. He hadn't meant a word. He detailed all his fantasies about the things he would do to them, like he was planning a vacation." He swallowed. "He said how he wanted to- to-"

"Stop!" Rafael finally burst out. "I'm sorry, I- I'm sorry you had to deal with him, but-" He stood, looking he might bolt. "I can't. I'm a prosecutor, not a-a- I didn't agree to- didn't want-"

"Rafael." George felt guilt rise in him; guilt for going too far, for not realizing Rafael had reached his limit. "I'm sorry. I won't talk about him anymore, I promise. Come back."

Rafael obliged, sinking into the sofa next to him. He gazed up at the ceiling, looking pale. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Shh," George soothed him. He leaned over and gently massaged Rafael's temples. He had been in this position so often early in his career; it was why he so often had to detach himself at work, appear emotionless. Otherwise it would eat him alive. The crimes got to him less now, but it still happened sometimes, and he had had to learn how to stop himself from vomiting or showing the criminals any other sign of weakness. "It's okay. Relax; breathe."

"I really did not need to hear that," Rafael managed.

"I know. I'm so sorry. I should have been more careful. I won't do that again, I promise." He caressed Rafael's cheek with one hand. "Close your eyes for a moment," he instructed. "Create the most relaxing scene you can think of."

"You want me to describe it to you?" Rafael asked.

"You don't have to, but you can if you want to."

Rafael nodded in affirmation and closed his eyes, inhaling slow and deep. "Gstaad. You ever been there?"

"No. I've never been to Europe," George told him.

"It's pretty. They have the most amazing slopes. And you can take the train to so many festivals. They have great chocolate, of course." He smiled a little. "This slope I went on last winter was so quiet. There were a lot of pine trees. I stopped halfway down to enjoy it. It was snowing a little and it just felt so… idyllic. It was perfect. A light wind rustling through the trees, the sound of the skiers passing me. I could look down and see the lodge."

"That sounds nice," George agreed. "Maybe we should go sometime."

"Maybe we should move there," Rafael said and then opened his eyes. "I didn't mean that."

"I know what you meant," George said. "Sometimes I want to leave this behind too."

"Yeah? Where would you like to go?"

George thought, then answered, "A mountain somewhere. I don't care which one."

"You hike?" Rafael asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No. But I'd like to, if the mountain was pretty enough." He grinned wryly.

"I see." Rafael closed his eyes again. "So a mountain and then Gstaad. Nice date."

"We'll work some other stops in there." George looked at Rafael carefully and brushed the hair out of his face. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," Rafael said. After a moment, he sighed. "I like what I do. I like being a prosecutor; I like fighting for victims. But I don't know how long I can keep doing it. I should be able to, but it's just too much sometimes."

Squeezing Rafael's hand, George told him, "There's nothing wrong with you if you can't keep doing this. Not many can do it longer than a few years, and there are other people you can fight for. The Homicide bureau would love to have you."

Rafael thought that over, nodding slowly and looking into his lap. "I think you're right. I just feel… weak. If Olivia can handle this after-"

Cutting him off, George protested, "You can't compare yourself to her, or Detective Amaro or Rollins or anyone else. They have different motivations and personalities. Working SVU is draining, but it also gives them strength. It takes it from you. There's nothing wrong with that. _Nothing_, Rafael. Your personality seems harder on the outside, but inside you're a gentler person than they are- even if you refuse to let them see it. It's a good thing, Rafael. It means you sympathize with the victims more; fight for them harder. And when it gets to be too much, you can fight for people who were murdered, and if that's too much you can find others to fight for. Just being in this unit, you are stronger than most people. You have to give yourself credit for that."

Rafael again nodded and conceded George's point. He looked up and softly confessed, "I can never seem to stop comparing myself to others. Ever since I was little."

"I know. You had to, then. You had to be better than everyone else to get your ticket out, so you had to know how you compared. You won't be able to stop doing it overnight. Just work at it," George said.

"Yeah," Rafael mumbled, unable to think of a further reply. "I will." He laced their fingers.

"Thank you, Médicito. Talking to you…" He smiled, leaning over to kiss him softly. "You know me so well. You always know what to say."

"That's part of being a psychiatrist," George said lightly. He looked at Rafael, took in his posture and facial expressions. Rafael looked relaxed now, thoughtful but content. The case was still weighing on him, but he truly did feel better.

"It is, but this isn't just that. I'm not just someone to read." Rafael smirked slightly.

"You're not," George agreed, rubbing the back of Rafael's neck. He shifted closer, so that their faces were inches apart. "You're much more than that."

"Mm-hmm," Rafael hummed. He kissed George again, soft and sweet, before pulling away. "Of course I am. I'm the guy who convinced you to ditch those awful sweater-vests."

"They weren't that bad," George protested lightly.

"Maybe not if you were a schoolboy." Rafael laughed.

George shook his head in amusement. "Anyone ever tell you you're too into fashion?"

"Often."

George rolled his eyes playfully. "You need a new hobby."

"You can help me look for one." Rafael stretched and yawned. "Something that doesn't require day trips."

"I'll see what I can do." George looked Rafael over. He really did seem better, and it filled his heart with happiness. It hurt to see Rafael so distressed, even if it was part of the grim world they immersed themselves in.

Rafael stood, heading towards the kitchen. "I'm hungry. Have anything in mind for dinner?"

"Let me see what we have," George replied, following him. He set his hand on Rafael's arm.

He was worried; worried that although Rafael seemed in lighter spirits for now, the job would just drag him back down again with the next case. He was worried that one day, he might not be able to pull Rafael back up. As they walked into the next room, George vowed that he would keep Rafael from getting to that point. He couldn't let Rafael fall into the same pit that had already claimed so many good people he'd known.

"Are you alright?" Rafael asked him softly.

"Yes." He paused. "I'm just worried about you."

Rafael exhaled slowly and quietly said, "I think I'll be okay. I think we'll both know when it's time for me to give this up."

Comforted by the knowledge that Rafael was thinking the same thing as him, George smiled softly. "We will. And I'll always be here to help."

"Not many people are lucky enough to have their very own psychiatrist," Rafael said, wrapping one arm around him. George turned it into a full hug, resting his head on Rafael's shoulder.

Rafael truly respected what George did, and it filled him with affection. So many people he worked with just didn't understand. He was just a shrink to them, the person who made them admit feelings that made them weak and who was too willing to take the suspects' side of things.

They stayed there for a long while, lost in their own thoughts; appreciation and concern. Eventually Rafael broke away, kissed George softly, and murmured, "Thank you, George. I needed… All this."

"Thank you, Rafael," George replied, kissing him back.

"For what?" Rafael asked.

George proceeded to make what amounted to a list of everything he loved about Rafael, which would have made anyone else blush.


End file.
